


Salvage

by Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/pseuds/Minim%20Calibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something to be said for hopeless gestures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvage

**Author's Note:**

> 500 random unbeta'd words that wanted out, spawned by me digging through our CD collection and realizing we had a copy of Metallica's Black Album in there. Who knew?

Sam finds it beneath a box of salt, the plastic casing so worn he can barely make out the words. Actually, he can't make a third of the letters in the title out at all, but it isn't hard to fill in the blanks when the ones you can still read are M-ta--ica. Copyright 1991. Dean was 12.

The magnetic tape's split in half, dead brown ribbon dangling out from the cassette. Judging from the amount left on each spool, it broke on side one, song four. "Unforgiven."

He doesn't know if he should laugh or cry, and he doesn't want to know how many rewinds it took to break the tape beyond a lot. There's something embarrassingly sad and raw and Dean about the piece of plastic in his hand.

Biting his lip, he looks back at the Roadhouse. Dean's still sleeping off the whiskey Ellen broke out earlier. Sam slides the tape into his pocket and shuts the trunk. Back inside, he grabs a bottle and heads to the back room.

"Hey, Doctor Badass," he whispers with a quiet knock. "You up?"

A few seconds later, Ash pokes his head out the door. "Sam. Sign says out." He reaches out a (thankfully clothed) arm and flips it around. "Or it did. What urgent business brings you around at oh-three-hundred hours?"

"I need a favor." He hands over the PBR and pulls out the tape. "Can you splice this?"

Ash looks at it for a moment, then nods around the beer. "I can do better. Come on in."

He sets the tape and the PBR down on a table. "I upgraded everything to digital a few years ago," he explains as he pulls a dusty shoebox out from under his bed. "Kept all the originals, though, in case they could come in handy." Ash sets his copy next to Dean's. "Hand me the glasses screwdriver from the bedstand, will you? I think we can salvage the patina."

Ash unscrews both cassettes, carefully transferring the intact tape and discarding the broken one in the trash with a small salute.

"Good as new," he proclaims, and takes a long swig of his drink. "Need anything else?"

Sam shakes his head. "No. Thanks." He makes his way back out to the Impala, stopping first to make sure Dean's still asleep. He is. And drooling. Sam digs out Dean's phone, takes a picture, and sets it as the background for Dean to find when he wakes up.

The case is still in the box with the rest of the tapes that survived the crash. Sam opens it and slides the resurrected cassette back home. He tries to figure out what he'll say to Dean about it come morning. Saying nothing's tempting, but then Dean might freak and insist they salt and burn it. So instead, he digs out a Post-It and a pen, and writes, "Fixed it -- Sam" in an awkward left-handed scrawl, and hopes it will.


End file.
